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December 26, 2013

'Christmas Carol' poetry contest results

We had five truly great poems in our Christmas Carol poetry contest. Thank you all so much for participating -- it was a joy to read your work!

Our distinguished judge, Rolley Haggard, has made his ruling, and the winners are . . .

First Place:

"Prequel" by Rheanna Macias

Second Place:

"Belle" by Marian

Third Place:

"There is no glory in death . . ." by eavis

Congratulations! I'll contact you and get your addresses so I can send out the prizes!

I'm republishing all the poems below the cut. I'm also including one by Selenia -- hers was submitted but somehow got lost in the system. She's e-mailed it to me now, so I'll publish it here, with my sincere apologies.

Prequelby Rheanna Macias

With all the homage of exiled Adam saluting in surprise He felt the cold that winter, the winter where visits and visionsRouted him, rousted him, forced him to decisionsBy the shocking of them open and glass-polish in his eyes: With only Confusion, for companion; and past Sins, for provisions,He shivered in the grey-blind blasts, blinked the flurries from his eyes.

It stung him like the stinging of the stingy stinging words That were the bits of broken net strung togethe, badly sewn,And madly, by the keepers of his airtight childhood home;Words warmthless as half-skeletons, words brief as the edge of a sword: And yet, he was no child now, and a man so "sharpish" as he was knownCould see them now as drunken rabble (but once they passed for lords).

Then those blessed-cursed Voices (Voices near as anything they were)Shook out water from the hot rock of him, all sun-fired in the heat, Made him drop ten thousand cares, left hiw the more complete--Showed him the murmur of his daughter, her timid tiptoe on the stair,Fastidiously un-creeted when she was only made to be discrete--All left of the mother who'd left him not willing -- much less her!

And not least did that winter chill him like the knowledge given himOf what it would be if he went a score more winters in like despair: A hunchback crone dressed like a man, contemning the skin he must wear,As skim, as flint, as miserable… (yet, horribly, not him!)He took up at last the neglected care, and all the more embraced the air: He could bear himself but not his own to bear that phantom limb.

The searing of a soul; ah, Friend Regret! ah, Master Pain!But the trembling of joy is worth every tremble of fear. Before he could see horror as horror, his whole vision was not clear;Before he could feel the cold, he could not enjoy a flame. "Fan, my dear, come and sit by me; I want you here,I want your hand in my hand, I want your tiny head against the same!"

Belleby Marian

I have no cause to grieve;no, not if this pursuit of wealthreplaces us, as now I leavethis distant Christmas Eve.

And you have made us two.I watch you, as a shadow might,lock all the doors to never loseshut in this life you choose.

"There is no glory in death . . ."by eavis

There is no glory in deathno honour to be foundin the feeble cry of a child, cold and alonein the weeping of a mother, son lost, husband gone.in the struggle to breathe, borne down by grey cloud.There is nothing that savours much of youthin the empty eyes of a child, hope long crushedin the timid hand, held out for breadin the anguished eyes, clouded by the scorpion's sting.

And yetperhapsif one knewand, forewarned by kindly spiritsventured to ask yet one favour moreback to the beginning, to a Christmas so long ago

There is a man who liveshe lives in London townin a house, open to all and glowing with warmthin a room with bustling mother, father, and halting son.in a place where cares are lifted and burdens shared.There is a man who dared to change his fatein the choosing of a differing pathin the giving of himself to servein the laughter of bright-eyed children